One man - determined to save...
G Raghuveera Rao is a man of principles and honour. A man of integrity and valour. A man now desperate enough to make a deal with the Devil himself, if that is what it takes to save his son.
One favour - destroy to s...
He tossed in bed, too shattered to think and rubbed his shoulder. It was a reflex action and he wondered why it ached, the day was a blur with the only thing playing on a loop was the doctor's resigned words, 'I am sorry but there is nothing more we can do.'
Broken hopes and shattered dreams could shriek, he learnt, but he could not say a word of comfort to his family. The helplessness of the situation filled him with rage and he wanted to do something, anything other than simply giving up. Springing up from the bed, he changed into warmer clothes and decided to take a walk.
Kamakshi, too fatigued to cry, lay in bed, staring at him listlessly. She would normally have a thousand questions for him. He could make out her silent lament, 'what had they done to deserve this? How could they live watching their son die?'
The same questions would echo in his parent's muted whispers, they would not be sleeping either.
He crossed the corridor outside Trisha's bedroom and he could hear the same entreaty in her soft sobbing. There was no sound from Tarun's bedroom, and though he felt like a coward, he was grateful; he could not face his son, yet.
Downstairs, as he passed down the hallway and the guest room, he was startled to hear Khaleed and his wife, Ameena, talking. It was surprising, he did not know that they were staying the night, it was not unusual, but he was bewildered that he was not aware of his friend's presence. Some part of him wanted to knock on the door and call Khaleed out, it would do good to see him but then another part of him did not want any company. He would be better being miserable alone.
Hyderabad was always a hot city, but in December, the nights were cold. It was welcome, for the chill helped him clear his head. He reminded himself that he was a military man, a man of action, not a dithering fool who relied upon and accepted the whims of an unseen and unheard power; which was what they had been doing for the past few months.
All they got was radio silence from the heavenly deities and it was nothing new for him. He had never seen or heard of God answering any prayers, irrespective of the religion one practised and he had seen quite a few.
His paternal grandmother was an Italian who had fallen in love with his grandfather, a sepoy in the 8th Indian Division, which had been part of the Italian campaign during the Second World War. His grandfather had later turned into a zealous proponent of the Advaita Vedanta while his grandmother continued to follow her catholic faith. His father had converted to Buddhism as an answer to the question as to which faith he would follow. And had gone ahead to fall in love with his Jain mother, who had never given up on her faith. He was witness to mild religious arguments though there had been strong battles in the kitchen over the dietary habits; a vegetarian grandfather, a bacon-loving grandmother, a beer-guzzling father and his mother, who would not include root vegetables in the list of foods that could be consumed. And his best friend, his partner in crime and fellow soldier, was a Muslim. It had been an enlightening childhood, religions could be different but love was same, irrespective of the faith one followed. It became all the more evident when he had met and married Kamakshi, a devout Hindu, who fasted for more than sixty days a year, all in the name of God.
He had seen different practices, different philosophies and different arguments as to who or what God was. He was not sure then and he did not care now, and wondered if just like him, God did not care for humans.
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